


After the Storm

by buckybarrow



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern AU, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, everyone wears a big fluffy sweater and has a beard au, talk of depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-06-03 01:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6591571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybarrow/pseuds/buckybarrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a traumatic public event causes his comfortable life to spiral violently out of control, Dorian Pavus finds himself struggling to pick up the pieces again. Self exiled to a quaint seaside town far far away from his old life, he does his best to recover amid old friends and new, though the man who lives in the lighthouse at the end of the island is making it hard to break old habits, namely falling in love at the worst possible time...</p><p>--some cheesy falling in love modern au fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just for anyone who is wondering/confused, in this situation there are two Trevelyans. Elora belongs to the wonderful Cecania c:

Dorian pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. He was not panicking, he told himself, he wouldn’t allow it. It was just a case of traveling jitters. What was he doing here? He had to center himself, remind himself where he was, why he was there. He was escaping, running away for the sake of his own well being. He was fumbling at counting to ten and trying to catch his breath in the cramped utility closet they were trying to pass for a lavatory was what he was doing.

_Bzzt._

He let out what was intended as a sigh but somehow took the form of a sharp intake of breath. He wasn’t going to break down here. Not in the toilets of some rinky dink southern ferry. He would be fine if he could just catch his breath.

The last couple of days had been a blur of moments stolen in bathrooms, trying not to panic, suppressing the same sensation that was clawing at him in that moment. Then it had been the quiet panic of dressing quickly in the much larger restroom attached to the hospital room followed by the louder panic of a claustrophobic slightly smaller airplane bathroom. Now it was this.

_Bzzt._

He was perched as best as he could manage on what little bit of counter space whomever had been in charge of building this vessel had provided. He nearly slid off as he curled over double against the violently anxious sensations beating at his ribcage.

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt._

Dorian’s heart was beating too fast, his blood was roaring in his ears making the air throb around him. He tried to sit as perfectly still as he could and just breathe through it, but he felt like he was drowning. He was certainly gasping like he’d slipped beneath the surface. He was sinking, deeper… deeper.

_**Bzzzzzzzzt!** _

Three sharp raps at the door cut through the haze of his panic attack and the walls were suddenly back. He coughed to cover the sound of his haggard breathing as he jerked to attention. He fumbled to catch his still vibrating phone-slipping off of the counter as he found his grip on the overlarge device-but suddenly his foot was in the toilet.

_Kaffas._

“Dorian,” came the voice of Elora Trevelyan from the other side of the door, tiny and carefully probing for signs of life. It only then occurred to him that it hadn’t just been three quiet knocks, but three more in a series of however many she’d sent before. How long had he been in there trying not to panic? He wondered briefly how long it had been since they’d gotten off the plane, boarded this shoddy vessel, how long since he’d fled to the respite of it’s privy.

He took too long to answer and already she was speaking again. “Is everything alright in there?”

“F-fine,” Dorian lied, cringing at the sound of his own voice and how entirely the opposite of fine it sounded. “Ah… one second,”

He tentatively put weight on the foot that had been submerged and clenched his teeth to keep from shuddering as his sock squelched grossly. He was starting to wish he had that pair of extras Elora had advised to keep handy.

Dorian turned to inspect himself in the tiny, clouded mirror and, not for the first time, was startled by what he saw.

_Maker’s Tits…_

It had been one hell of a week.

He felt like he was going to be sick. It’s the altitude, he told himself, slipping his hands beneath the sink, which he was surprised to find was automatic, and splashing his face with water.

It took some fidgeting with the lock, but after a moment Dorian took a deep breath in attempt to steady himself and pulled the door back. Elora was standing right there on the other side, just like he’d expected her to, her pretty round face pulled tight with concern.

She always was the worrier.

He watched her features fall as she took him in, one small hand coming up to rest on the side of his face. “Dorian…”

He shrugged out of her reach. “I’m alright. Just a little...” _Heartsick. Soul-sore. Off my fucking rocker._ “Seasick,” he sighed.

That much was true now that some of the anxiety roiling in the pit of his stomach had subsided. He’d never been much of a mariner and though the seas weren’t exactly what could be referred to as turbulent his stomach was heaving. Dorian wasn’t in the mind space to make eye contact at present, but he could see Elora chewing the inside of her lip.

She wanted to ask him if he was alright, she was practically bursting at the seams for suppressing the sensation, but they’d agreed. If he didn’t get any stupid ideas, she wouldn’t ask him that stupid question.

After a moment Elora smiled at him and took his arm, steering him towards the bow of the ship. “Deep breaths,” she advised. “Salt air is supposed to be good for the soul.”

Dorian laughed bitterly at that just as his phone buzzed at his hip. He fought the urge to say something depressing.

Of course as always, as if it hadn’t been near ten years since they’d seen each other, since they’d been roommates, she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. And she didn’t like it.

Elora pinched him. Hard. He felt it bite even through the fabric of his coat.

“Ouch!”

“What’d I say about that kind of thinking?”

He side eyed her sullenly once the initial shock passed. Dorian was only able to muster a feeling that was half way to anger over the pain.

At least she wasn’t treating him like he was made of glass.

“I wasn’t,” he muttered, rubbing the stinging spot in the tender flesh of his underarm.

“Liar,” she huffed.

Seagulls caterwauled overhead and the ferry rocked with every cresting wave. Dorian swallowed against the nausea and tried not to let on how his knees were wobbling with every step. He tried hers, and everyone else on the planet’s sage advice, and filled his lungs to bursting. Of course he’d forgotten that they were raw and expanding beyond the capacity for his current bodily state, which included several bruised and two cracked ribs that smarted ferociously. He had to grip the boat’s iron rail and bite his cheek to keep from yelping.

It was slick with seawater and everything else imaginable and Dorian almost immediately released the thing, choosing instead to fold his arms over his chest.

Somewhere above them on the second story, someone laughed loudly while another mirrored their gaiety with an assured “I’m serious!”.

 _Not as serious as I am,_ Dorian said to himself, eyeballing the choppy surf. It wasn’t rough enough to drown him if he decided to throw himself over, if that was what he was considering at the moment, but it was certainly cold enough to shock the sense back into him. As it turned out, simply the thought of such frigid seawater was enough to warrant such an effect.

No, October was not the month to suddenly take a keen interest in snorkeling. Maybe in Quarinus, but definitely not this far south at the ass end of Southern Thedas.

He couldn’t remember where Elora’d said she lived now, all he remember was thinking it had taken her forever to come and get him out of that hospital bed.

Dorian was only half aware of Elora’s attempts at making conversation, filling the silence. He didn’t try and listen, he was still watching the waves beat at the side of the ferry. Half a dozen dolphins skirted just beneath the surface and he pulled up the collar of his coat. It briefly occurred to him that he may not have dressed for the weather as his breath fogged in front of his face.

“I see that hasn’t changed, at least,” Elora said then.

“Pardon?”

“You’re as popular as you ever were.”

Dorian turned and really looked at her for what may have been the first time that day. The cold had made her soft face pink and ruddy, those Trevelyan eyes as bright and green as ever. She was zipped into a dark, man’s parka. For half a moment he thought maybe it was his, but he didn’t recognize it. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her thick curly locks were whipping around her head in the wind. Ten years hadn’t changed much about her, a line here and there maybe, but--   _ **BZZZZT**_. Elora directed his gaze downward to where his phone was vibrating in his pocket again. Of course it was, it hadn’t stopped since the moment he decided to up and lose his shit.

He’d had a few hours respite at forty thousand feet in the air, but the damned thing had been blowing up from the moment they’d stepped off the plane. He hadn’t had the courage to look at it, so much as even consider answering the surely dozens of inquiries to his health. Were he still back home, someone might have thought themselves clever enough to quip about his suddenly not being glued to it for once, but then again if he were still back home, no one would be joking much about anything. He wasn’t sure he’d still have the physical presence to remember he’d once been addicted to his phone.

After taking another one of those long, painful breaths, Dorian fished his cell phone from his pocket and stared at the screen a moment longer before brushing his thumb over the lock button.

87 unread texts.

33 missed calls.

59 unanswered emails.

The subject of which he could be sure were all the same.

He watched three more messages come in just staring at his lock screen and his stomach curled at the thought of having to answer them. Having to lie and stuff all his feelings back down where they were safe and in no danger of spilling out, promising everyone he was fine, that he hadn’t done it on purpose and he wouldn’t do it again.

In a moment the screen lit up and the device vibrated into life. The caller-id was anonymous, but Dorian couldn’t stomach the thought of answering.

Then suddenly struck with the overwhelming sensation of the first good idea he’d had all week, Dorian whipped his arm back and pitched the device over the bow and to the horizon. Elora made a noise between a startled gasp and an incredulous yelp. He watched it arch and fall and disappear beneath the crystalline surface with an unceremonious “plop”.

There was a long moment of freeing silence, and if only for a second, Dorian felt like he could finally breathe.

“Dorian! Why did you do that?”

“I’d say that solves that problem.”

“I can’t get you a new one of those!” she stammered, as if she were his assistant and one of her many responsibilities was to replace a lost or broken phone. At her own expense.

Dorian shrugged in an exceedingly feigned nonchalance. He really ought to have at least tried to feel some shred of remorse, but he was halfway to giddy with the reckless feeling of what he’d just done. He didn’t want to risk spoiling it. “All the better,” he said, turning his head to address his old friend.

He’d intended to give her one of those winning smiles, but his face refused to respond.

They stared at each other a heartbeat, and Dorian watched Elora’s wide eyed incredulity fall into a maternal anger. “Are you alright?”

His stomach dropped out. Dorian turned away from Elora immediately and crossed his arms over his chest. He could even react, despite how he furrowed his brow and huffed moodily.

There went his almost happy feeling.

“I’m fine,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

They were silent then for a very long while.

Dorian couldn’t bring himself to hate Elora for asking, much less even be angry with her. At least she was actually trying to help, it was more than anyone back home had done. He’d given them a damned cry for help and they’d pat-patted his head and told him ‘this was for the best’ while refusing the one thing he’d asked for. Dorian hadn’t even had to ask and she’d arrived like a knight in shining armor to get him out of there. And here they were, extremely far removed from where he’d been twenty four hours before and still waiting for a sign of relief.

He was aware of Elora quietly grumbling to herself. She was grinding her teeth the same way she always had back at university when hyper focused on something, whether that something be studying, fuming, or simply holding her tongue. Ten years hadn’t changed much, it seemed.

Finally, she heaved a sigh and pushed away from the sea-slick railing.

“I’m going inside.” She announced.

How lucky for you… he wanted to say but couldn’t muster the will to make such a snide comment.

It took Dorian all of two seconds to recognize the statement as an open ended invitation.

He knew what his choices were, either he could stay out there and sulk by himself, or follow her into the cabin and run the risk of being comforted. Somehow the latter didn’t seem any more inviting.

He listened to her footsteps; the initial turn from the railing, the pause in waiting to see if he would follow, and then finally that short legged gait, squeaking in rain boots and fading in distance.

Dorian wanted to set his jaw and stand stubbornly in the decision he hadn’t exactly made just yet. He didn’t want to be left alone, but even more so he didn’t want to be led around and pandered to like a love sick child. He didn’t want to admit that he was love sick in the first place because it wasn’t rightly true. What was a better word for what had been done to him, for what he was feeling? Betrayed? No, it wasn’t nearly a strong enough word and he hadn’t been in love. Not really.

‘Used’ was closer but still felt too casual.

Dorian reached for his phone, thinking very hard about the dictionary app snuggled safely hidden away in-- his pocket was empty.

His first instinct was to panic, patting himself frantically and checking every one of his pockets only to come up with the same result. Empty. Someone had stolen his phone, or he’d absentmindedly left it sitting somewhere unattended. He turned swiftly on his heel, on just managing not to slip on the deck, intending to retrace his steps and hoping beyond hope that someone hadn’t seen the shiny new device and suddenly developed magpie-like traits. It took less than three near frantic steps to remembered exactly what had happened to it.

Dorian’s heart sank.

As if on cue, it began to rain.

Amid the mire of his mind, the slew of self deprecating thoughts and the not so nice names he called himself, he looked up and saw Elora. She was standing there at under the awning, as patient as ever, arms crossed a little awkwardly over her midsection, practically drowning in that huge parka. She was waiting for him like she was his mother content to wait out his tantrum. He still couldn’t bring himself to muster an ounce of ill feeling towards his friend, his rescuer. With a dejected sigh, Dorian stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and quickly shuffled over to her and out of the rain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian reaches his destination and comes to realize that he may have made a mistake in running in the first place

By the time the ferry had made port, Dorian had lost all concept of time and space. He had no idea where in the world they had come to dock. Somewhere very far removed from the things of modern man, to be sure. They’d been traveling for days it seemed and he was exhausted.

They had spent the remainder of their time aboard the ferry sitting in sullen silence, Dorian was determined to sulk and Elora was contented to let him to do so. As the minutes turned to hours and the horizon darkened, Dorian had started to fidget. Being inside the cabin had not done much to help with his seasickness, and overlooking the fact that he was starting to develop a maritime strain of cabin fever, he was becoming increasingly anxious in anticipation of their next step. There had never been a real plan for this prison break. It had been a wholly spur of the moment thing and Dorian had been in the dark for most of it. Surely they had to be nearing an end, but where would they go from there? And how were they expected to reach their destination? For no real reason at all, Dorian had begun to imagine a dreadfully elaborate scenario involving the two of them hitchhiking. As terrible as that sounded on its own, he saw them stumbling along a desolate, unpaved patch of earth in pitch blackness, waiting for the few and far between pair of headlights to appear on the horizon. In his mind he imagined them wandering into a restless eternity, a black purgatory where they’d eventually lose themselves in the darkness and simply cease to exist … or maybe he was just getting a little too invested in the book Elora had pulled up on her tablet. He’d been reading over her shoulder from his peripheral for the better part of an hour.  

Spooky stuff.

The last few minutes of their thrilling sea voyage saw Dorian on his feet, pacing those handful of steps available to him in the tiny cabin. Elora chided him to sit still more than once but he was going stir crazy.

He needed off of this boat, one way or another.

The docking process was nothing special if not an entirely welcome change of pace. They gathered their things when prompted and Dorian was struck with the realization that he had no belongings, no suitcase or overnight bag of any kind, literally nothing but the clothes on his back. Quite a change in pace to his usual traveling habits which saw him with three suitcases in the very least, no matter what. He pushed himself into two more moments of blind panic in looking for his phone before recalling how he’d committed it to a watery grave, and then fell eagerly into queue and waited to be released onto glorious dry land. Elora was moving a little slower than he would have liked, she had to be eager to get home, wherever that might be, and Dorian had started to wonder if that was where he would end up. It seemed more than likely, Elora had never been the type of person to put a guest up in a motel when she had a spare room or couch. She’d always liked her visitors close at hand.

Solid, unwavering ground was a welcome relief, but only a port in the growing storm of anxieties that were buzzing around his head now that the crashing waves and hum of the ferry had ceased.

Dorian was exhausted, he wanted nothing more than to find a soft bed to curl up in for the rest of his life which, if he had any say in the matter, he would prefer not last very long at all. He would have been content to sit and plan his impending doom but he still had no idea how much further their journey would take them and less so how they were expected to arrive at their mysterious destination. Dorian had always hated not knowing. He hated more the incessant questions of _‘what’s the matter?’ ‘are you well?’ ‘what’s wrong?’_ , so he locked his jack and remained silent.

The first thing Dorian was aware of in stepping off of the ferry was a sensation, a very powerful physical feeling that could be summed up in one word: _cold_.

It was freezing outside and in moments his teeth had begun to chatter. His first instinct was to run right back up the ramp and barricade himself on the ferry where at least it had been warm, but that was no closer to a bed and he found himself frozen in place as a swift breeze blew through him like he were made of tissue paper.

“What the fuck.” He said once he got his mouth to open, and then again, much louder and this time directly at Elora, “ _What the fuck_?!” He cried, really intending to ask where in the world she had taken him and why she hadn’t warned him about the cold.

Her eyes widened and she flailed her arms, shushing him as she did.

“Dorian! There are _families_ here!”

“Good! I’ll have company when I _freeze to death_!”

All around, people zipped themselves into their jackets, applied scarves and knitted hats, and Dorian was left to stand and shiver in his thin tshirt, tight jeans, and a coat that was entirely for show. It wouldn't stop a cool breeze on a spring day let alone such an Arctic squall as this.

He half sprinted to the nearest overhead light, as if it were a trashcan fire he could hover over, rather apropos for his current state of mind. He went from shivering in the dark to shivering under a spotlight, illuminating the harbor sign he came to realize. Where in the world had they come to land? The South Pole?

“ _Ferelden_ ?!” He half shouted as he read the weather-worn welcome. “Elora! _Why_?”

She was shaking her head as she made her way over him. “I told you to bring a jacket.” Elora tut-tutted.

Dorian would have snapped a response had he been sure he wouldn’t bite his tongue off in attempt to retort. He _was_ wearing a jacket, a very _expensive_ jacket at that. He was extremely fond of this jacket, or at least he had been before that moment. It was a thing that his so-called friends had coveted and they’d made no secret of it. Maevaris had flat out offered to buy it from him at it had only added to how immensely pleased he had been with the purchase at the time. Never had he been struck so thoroughly with buyer’s remorse than he was in that moment. This jacket was stupid, a gaudy waste of money and he fully intended to burn it the second he found time, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

Instead he shuffled along behind her, trying to will her to walk faster towards… wherever it was they were headed.

A old beat up truck with a rusty paint job, it seemed, with a broad shouldered, tall, scruffy man leaning against it. He was wrapped in what could not have been nearly enough layers, a t-shirt, flannel, and jacket, looking entirely too casual for how cold it was. Dorian began shivering harder just looking at him. Though he did look, in fact he became aware that he was staring. The man was not unattractive by any means. He wondered if it would continue to be rude to stare if it was in passing, wondered just how close they would be passing, and then began to almost worry that this lumberjack of a man was their ride.

In days gone by, he would have been deterred from such rude behavior by Felix’s presence and how Dorian’s blatant appreciation for a male specimen embarrassed his friend. “ _I could die_!” he would say, face in hands while Dorian insisted he was just opening the floor for him.

“That’s even worse!” Felix would cry, bright red and burning.

The memory was a lance through his heart and without his frail moral compass to steer him away, Dorian sent a silent prayer to the Maker than they would breeze past the ruggedly handsome man with the lip scar (Dorian noticed as they got closer still). He hoped they would shuffle past and he could resign himself to reminiscing on the man’s looks, wondering what he looked like under those too few layers in a dimly lit room after one too many drinks--

Elora squeaked along in her rain boots, showing no sign of diverting, headed straight for the flannel.   

 _Fuck_.

She crashed into the man with a sort of adolescent glee that only teenage sweethearts seemed to have. The man caught her in a hug that was tight gripped and loose armed at the same time in a way Dorian guessed only worked due to the fact that Elora was close to a whole foot shorter than this man-- her husband, he came to realize.

He suddenly felt something that had him squirming. Embarrassment maybe? He could almost hear Felix insisting that he hated to say he’d told him so, and that only made him feel worse.

Dorian could honestly say that out of all the things he’d imagined, he had certainly never expected _this_ be waiting for them. And though he wasn’t currently equipped to be shocked by much of anything at the moment, he was certainly in the vicinity of the feeling.

He supposed he did recall knowing at some point a few years back Elora had met a man with whom things had become decidedly serious. He had their save the date stashed somewhere back at home, a few christmas cards, maybe even an announced pregnancy? Dorian couldn’t remember if he’d ever learned her beau’s name, at present he couldn’t think past those broad shoulders she’d rested her hands on as they broke the embrace. At least now it made sense as to why she was wearing a man’s coat.

The scruffy faced lumberjack snaked an arm the size of a tree trunk around Elora’s waist and bent nearly double to kiss her. A little too passionately for what was publicly acceptable, Dorian thought. There was definitely tongue in there somewhere.

“Hey, Ells Bells,” the man rumbled, she was practically purring as she nuzzled against him.

Dorian’s insides went squirmy at the unexpected display of affection and he quickly averted his gaze. That was not the sort of thing he needed to be seeing right now. There was a fresh pain in him and that similar feeling like he’d taken to bleeding suddenly.

Gradually, he began to go away again.

He didn’t exactly hear the introductions as they were made but all the same nodded and shook the hand that was extended to him. After, he slid into the back of the cab without so much as a word.

It smelled like a barn, or at least how Dorian imagined a barn would smell. He’d never personally been to a barn. It was musty, like something hanging over an ancient heater to dry and subsequently burning. There was the faintest tang of wet dog and on the seat directly beside him was a child’s car seat, stashed there rather than effectively strapped in. It was filled with chewed toys. It was clear there had very recently been a teething baby in the house, whether that baby was of human or canine origin remained to be seen, but Dorian didn’t give it a moment’s more thought beyond a hope that there wouldn't be screaming children or barking dogs wherever he was doomed to live his final days.

His head had slumped over to rest against the window and the cold glass had given him an instant headache. He shut his eyes to the feeling, to the smell of whatever he had unwittingly gotten himself into, and what he had left behind. The truck roared to life after a series of car doors slamming and off they went deeper into oblivion. Dorian tried to block out the jostling of the cab as they barreled down the road and how it steadily became worse and worse the further they got from the docks. He thought mournfully on the sleek gait of his own car, the silence of it and pristine interior. He thought of how he’d last seen it, twisted and smashed to an oblivion of crunched metal and shattered glass, how the engine had purred as it glided over pavement and how it had smoked and leaked it's precious life blood as it died. His poor car.

His legs were cramping stuffed sideways into what really should be called a padded bench rather than a seat, there weren’t even any safety belts. Dorian’s breath was fogging the glass. Someone had drawn a happy face on it with a tiny finger, revealed only now by his breathing. He tried to huddle into his sad excuse for a stupidly overpriced jacket and clenched his jaw to fight the violent shivering his body had fallen into. Elora twisted briefly and said something about a heater he didn’t quite catch. Dorian nodded absently to whatever it was she’d said and longed for the heated seats of his car, for the smell of it, the familiarity, the “clutter” he would apologize for were there the slight chance that anyone would slide into the passenger’s seat. It was gone, just like everything else good in his life, and it only depressed him to think about it.

Dorian shut his eyes and just focused on breathing, tuning out the domestic conversation happening in the front seat, the names he didn't recognize and the thick accent of the southern continent Elora’s man spoke in. Dorian counted the street lights as they passed and swallowed the instinctual anxiety that crept into his throat as they made a left turn and the lights disappeared altogether.

He had to remind himself over and over to stop reaching for his phone, to ignore the phantom buzzing at his hip, and to stifle the sudden nagging at the back of his mind that he’d made a terrible mistake in leaving home.

  

* * *

 

“Alright kiddos…”

“Five more minutes!” Lina shouted.

Arryn echoed her protest.

“Five minutes!”

“No,” Ionas tut-tutted, stretching the word and shaking his head at the toddlers sprawled over the area rug, “I gave you five minutes _twenty-five_ minutes ago, now it’s beddy-bye.”

A howling chorus of tiny albeit loud “no”s went up, inspiring woofing from the pile of tuckered out dogs lying at the other end of the room.

“ _Yes_! You should’ve been to bed when your Daddy left, now off you get you wee motherless mongrels,”

In hindsight Ionas realized that joke was funnier in his head, but he’d figured his niece and nephew were too young to catch more than the broad gist of his sentence, he wanted them to go to bed and they wanted to stay up to see their father return from the docks with their mother in hand.

Lina pulled a face and crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head once and sending her golden curls dancing.

“Mommy’s coming home tonight.” She informed her uncle, “Daddy said we could stay up to meet her!”

Ionas quirked a thick brow at her.

“That was before she was gonna be late, Lina-Bean-”

“ _Daddy said_!”

“Daddy said.” The three year old echoed.

“Daddy isn’t here,” Ionas insisted and glanced at his watch, “Now it’s a quarter to _ten_ , for Andraste’s sake, if Mommy gets home and sees you’re both still awake she’ll kick my butt… She’ll kick daddy’s butt first but then she’ll kick mine too.”

Arryn burst into a fit of hysterical giggles, but Lina wasn’t having it.

“I don’t have to do anything, Daddy’s the boss when Mommy isn’t here.”

Ionas shadowed the bossy four year old staring him down like she had some kind of real standing in the apparent debate that was currently taking place, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Right,” He huffed, “And who’s the boss when Daddy isn’t here?”

“ _I’m_ the boss.”

“I’m the boss,” Arryn yawned, chewing the tattered ear of his stuffed bear as it seemed the conversation had lost his interest.

His eyes were half hooded from exhaustion anyway, the three-year old would not be conscious for much longer, the same could not be said for his sister.

Lina’s brows shot up before subsequently drawing together at the notion of such a thing.

She reeled on him,

“No, Arryn, _I’m_ the boss!”

Arryn turned big sleepy gold eyes on her and piped up.

“I’m the boss!”

Her eyes went wide with incredulity and she shoved the little-er boy, causing their babysitter to go into the beginnings of cardiac arrest.

“ _I’m! The! Boss_!”

“ _Lina_!” Ionas yelped.

Arryn slumped backwards onto his rear with a start and Ionas held his breath. There was a heavy silence that hung in the air as everyone waited to see whether or not he would burst into tears. They should have been in bed by eight at the latest, but Cullen had decided to let them stay awake in order to see Elora return after an unprecedented three day absence. A flight delay had pushed her ETA and in a shocking turn of events they’d been allowed to stay up later than either of them ever had, now it was nearly ten and both children, and Ionas to be honest, were exhausted. The last thing he wanted was to have to comfort a squawling toddler.

There were several tense seconds where Arryn just sort of stared, as if he were trying to decide what to do, then finally he cranked his arm back and whipped his bear forward, hurling it right into Lina’s face.

Lina yelped at the sudden rush of fur and stuffing to the face and toppled over backwards in the shock of it.

Those seconds, though fewer, were not any less tense than the ones before.

“ _Uncle Yoney_ \--” She screeched, tears welling rapidly in big green eyes.

Ionas threw up his hands, knowing very well that it wouldn’t do any good to elect himself.

“Neither of you are the boss! _Peekay_ is the boss.”

The old mabari huffed in response to the mention of his name while the younger slumped atop him thumped his tail. “And Peekay says go to bed!”

“Peekay can’t talk.” Lina countered, sniffling and rubbing the back of her hand across her nose.

She was lucky she was only four, because anywhere else in the world that combination of mouth and attitude was sure to get her smacked, and Ionas was tired of being contradicted.

“Oi,” Two sets of ears perked as Ionas gave a sharp command, “ _Speak_!”

One shrill bark sounded followed by another and then the dogs waited for another command.

“He says beddy-bye.”

“You don’t know what he said!” Lina protested.

“Yes I do, all grown ups speak dog.”

“That’s not--”

“What’d Patches say?” Arryn said softly.

Lina glanced at her brother considering the question before turning accusing eyes back to her uncle, who was busy reeling from being caught in his lie.

_Well shit._

Ionas opened his mouth to speak, not entirely sure what he was ready to say, but the dogs beat him to it. Patches perked up and whined as Peekay scrambled to his feet and dislodged the younger dog. They loped to the front door and continued crying as headlights swept across the house and pulled into the driveway.

“Patches says... Mommy’s home...”

The kids stared for a moment before both screaming and leaping to their feet to rush the door. Ionas nabbed them before the door could swing open and take the both of them out of commission, the same couldn’t be said for the dogs who leapt and pawed and whined as Cullen slipped in and closed the door behind him, sans Elora.

“Alright Cullen?” Ionas asked, arms full of babies.

“Fine.” He said, then to the dogs, “Yes, hello you mangy beast. Patches _no_ , _get down_.”

Patches had endeavored to put himself in Cullen’s arms, despite his great size. The poor creature still seemed to be under the impression that he was simultaneously six weeks old and a lap dog. Peekay had the years to leave him content enough to thrust his nose into Cullen’s hand and snuffle excitedly, his tiny nub of a tail wiggling at mach five.

He greeted them by taking each by the collar and pulling them away from the door and towards the stairway.  

“Daddy!” Lina screeched, ringing Ionas’s ear drum as he passed and took no notice of his two small children. He was obviously distracted in his task, pulling the dogs from the front room for one reason or another. Elora hadn’t immediately followed him in but that didn’t expressly mean she wasn’t here, and Cullen wouldn’t have taken the dogs out of the room if no one was about to follow him him. Ionas couldn’t deny his confusion, it wasn’t as if Elora didn’t live in the house and was bombarded with enormous dogs and babies day in and out. Sure it had been three days since she’d gone, but that wasn’t enough to make her skittish, was it? Unless something had happened of course.  

“Where’s Mommy?” Arryn sniffled.

Finally the exhaustion of staying up so far past his bedtime was setting in and his eyes were wet with tears.

“I’m sure she’s--” Ionas began, and then the sound of the side door swinging open then shut cut him off.

Ionas twisted around, still holding a child under each arm, and smiled to see his cousin enter from the kitchen porch.

“There she is!”

He almost regretted saying it. There was Elora, sure, looking haggard and much more frazzled than she rightly ought to for a simple trip home, but there was someone standing with her, a tall stranger Ionas recognized immediately, despite the fact that it had been ten years since they’d last exchanged any sort of pleasantries or that he looked very much like he'd been beat within an inch of his life. His heart hit the soles of his feet then immediately jumped up into his throat.

Dorian hardly glanced at him.

Despite a moment of great alarm, Ionas didn’t stare and he didn’t linger. The kids were kicking up a ruckus, fighting to be let down but he made a bee-line for the stairs where Cullen had only barely managed to wrangle the dogs onto the landing.

“Who’s mommy with--” Lina began, tired of fighting her uncle now that she was busy with her growing curiosity towards the stranger standing in their living room.

“Bed time for everyone.” Ionas said quickly.

He wished suddenly he’d understood the situation better, he would have had the kids in bed an hour ago if he’d known she was bringing him back. Ionas and Cullen exchanged a look as they passed one another on the landing and moved to tuck their charges away in the parallel bedrooms.

Arryn was still on the verge of moody tears when Ionas plunked him down on his bed after first distribute his sister.

“But we have to say goodnight--”

“Mommy will be up to say goodnight as soon as she puts her friend to bed.” He assured the little boy, tucking him in. Arryn snuggled down into the bedding easily enough, despite his pathetic overtired sniveling, and sighed when Ionas smoothed a hand fondly through the thick dark curls atop his head.

Lina was never so easy with anything. She’d been waiting and watching until Ionas had his back turned, then bolted for the door. Of course she did not count on the fact that she was four and stood barely past her long legged uncle’s knees. He hardly had to turn to reach out and snag the back of her nighty, though in her thrashing she jerked him forward onto his stomach. The rug burn was bad enough, and then she started to scream.   

“For Andraste’s sake, Lina, you _have_ to go to bed!”

“ _No_!”

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Cullen’s looming shadow fell over them from the doorway, Ionas was only just trying to decide if he’d bitten his lip in the fall or if the flailing toddler had kicked him in the mouth when she burst into tears. In the other room the dogs were barking and howling.

Truly, it was just another day in the Trevelyan-Rutherford household.

“ _Daddy_!” Lina sobbed, almost incoherent in her apology.

She knew she was in trouble. He’d told them to be good and listen to Ionas and _go to bed_ , and they’d gone three for three in failing to do any of those things.

“How is it that this always happens?” Cullen sighed, stooping to pick the little girl up, leaving Ionas where he lay on the floor. He patted and rubbed gentle circles over his daughter’s back and spoke soothingly to her as she tucked her face into the crook of his neck, “Alright. Okay. I know, it’s okay… it’s _way_ past bedtime.”

The last part was very obviously directed at Ionas. It struck somewhat of a nerve.

“ _You_ said they could stay up for Mommy.” He pointed out.

Cullen huffed a response, but to his credit he nodded. “Apparently I say a lot of things.”

Ionas pushed himself up and slumped back against the dresser. He sighed and buried his face in his hands.

He was exhausted, he needed to go home and sleep and eat and shower and feed his cats. He loved his family and these kids like they were his own, to be sure, but he was beyond done for the night.

At least the dogs had quieted down.

Suddenly, thoughts of Elora’s house guest had crept into his mind, the way Elora had tried to sneak him in through the kitchen, the hollow look in his deeply bruised eyes and the familiarity of it, how he’d barely even seen Ionas despite looking right at him.

 _Dorian Pavus_. The name popped into his head without prompting and stirred butterflies in the pit of his stomach. Ionas found it immensely irritating. He had met him once or twice ten years ago when Dorian and Elora were college roommates, and Ionas had thought he was nice enough, if not a little eccentric. It wasn’t as if they’d actually known each other, been friends, dated, anything to warrant such a juvenile reaction. Ionas was half embarrassed.

There had been a moment at a party Elora had dragged him to because she hadn’t wanted to go on her own. It had been hurried and fumbling in the dark, something he hadn’t been accustomed to. Ionas would have liked to tell himself he hadn’t thought about it in years, frankly he would have liked to tell himself hadn’t thought about _Dorian_ in years, but that was hardly true. It felt pathetic to hold on to something that was still so vivid in his mind after a decade of adult life, but something about the way he’d looked just then. The emptiness behind those eyes seemed to stretch down to his very core sent a chill through Ionas, he knew that look, he’d seen it staring back at him in the mirror once upon a time. Dorian Pavus didn’t belong to that look, to that kind of desperate sadness. It had made Ionas sick to his stomach and he’d had to look away.

As far as they’d known, something had happened and Elora had only gone north to help, if Dorian was here, then things were worse than she had let on. Not that she’d said much about it in the first place.

“Are you alright?” Cullen’s voice reached him.

Ionas glanced over at Cullen, still cradling a sniffling Lina.

“Fine, I’m just …” He gestured vaguely before sighing,”... what the hell happened to him?”

Cullen took a moment to respond, as if he were trying to decide whether to tell Ionas or not. He could very easily have played dumb and pretended not to know who Ionas was talking about, but after a long moment he answered.

He spoke quickly, in a hushed voice. "Car accident. Ells says he drove into the side of a building." 

"Maker's Breath... _on purpose_?"

"She hasn't asked yet." 

Ionas wanted to ask a million questions, but he was fairly certain he now knew as much as Cullen did on the matter, so Ionas rubbed his hands over his face and sighed again.

"I'm tired."  

“Well." Cullen started, "I think I’ve got things covered here if you want to head out.”

Ionas quirked a brow and cracked a smile.

“Relieving me of my duty, Commander?”

The humor was not lost on Cullen. He smirked but he didn’t have a retort ready as he settled his daughter. Cullen had never been overly quippy and Ionas was too busy still thinking about how utterly random it felt to see Dorian again after so long and under such circumstances. He tried not to wonder if he still remembered that night. Ionas pulled himself to his feet and jerked a thumb awkwardly over his shoulder towards the stairs.

“Think I’ll go and say hello to Ella,” He started, “See if she needs help settling…” His tongue caught in his throat before he could say his name. “...well… yeah” Ionas felt his face grow hot. Cullen didn’t make mention of it if he noticed.

Ionas turned and started back down the stairs on stiff legs.

All this time and he still had such a terrible crush. He would have kicked himself if he were able.

Elora was coming out of the guest room as Ionas cleared the last step. She looked like she was ready to drop.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

She glanced up at him with bleary eyes and heaved a sigh. There was a long moment where she didn’t say anything, just stared past her cousin at nothing in particular, then shook her head.

“What am I going to do, Yoney?” Her voice was barely a rasp. He would have thought to see tears from her, but then again he expected she was too tired to cry at this point.

His heart ached as he tugged her into a long armed embrace.

Elora wound her arms around his waist and pushed her face into his sweater. Ionas smoothed a bump at the back of her hair and pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

“You’re gonna go upstairs and say goodnight to your horrid children--” She snorted, “And in the morning I’ll come ‘round and check up on the lot of you.”

Elora nodded and squeezed him once for good measure. He sent her up the stairs to her family after that and showed himself out.

Ionas made his home on the opposite end of the island, but it wasn’t a long drive through town. He was comfortably home and in bed in less than ten minutes, though it was much longer before he managed to get any sleep. He could not stop thinking about Dorian, trying to put the thought of what he may or may not have tried to do out of his mind, to imagine what in the world could possibly have gone so wrong that he would do it, wrestling with and chiding himself over the fact that it was none of his business. There were two very angry cats demanding attention besides.

That night he dreamt of a college party and of his cousin’s overly charming extroverted roommate, sloppy drunk and a little handsy but whose affection had not been unwelcome.

 


	3. Important Story Update!

Hi friends! 

First and foremost, let me thank you for all the support you've given me for this story, I really appreciate it so much!

Secondly, due to MAJOR plot overhauls, I'll be deleting this story and reposting a newer updated version under the same title in the next couple of days! If you'd like, you can keep an eye out for the updated version of 'After the Storm' coming soon!

Thank you again xoxo


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